


Rising Tides and Plummeting Expectations

by Pride_and_Pettiness



Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon-adjacent, Canonical Character Death, Doomed Timelines, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Foxes are Cute, Multi, Ninken | Ninja Dogs, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sarcasm, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_and_Pettiness/pseuds/Pride_and_Pettiness
Summary: Uzumaki Ayame was a quiet, but agreeable baby. She cooed at her parents, gurgled excitedly when Mito-san picked her up, and only expressed her displeasure with punctuated yells. The first time she truly cried (after being born, which was altogether an unpleasant and overwhelming experience only salvaged by the warmth of her mother's hold) was when she was four months old. Ayame saw from a life that did not juxtapose with this one that Uzushiogakure was going to burn to the ground, her parents inside. She cried for the love that she knew she would feel for them, for the laughter that would stop ringing through their small house. She cried for her sister, Kushina, who would have to mourn the loss of her home and family. Ayame cried for the son her sister would eventually have, her nephew, who would carry the burden of this world on his shoulders with fierce determination. She cried until her voice was hoarse, her cheeks burned, and she began to sweat.  When Ayame woke up the following morning, it was with newfound resolve- she didn't know if she would see her life past Uzushiogakure, but she was going to try. If she made it, things would not be the same.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 87





	1. In which Kushina realizes babies are not that exciting

The world was brighter than when she had last seen it. It was louder too, with the clicking of porcelain against porcelain as the rhythmic backing behind the gentle cooing reaching her ears. There was crying too, piercing the din of the rest of the noise. A face entered her field of view and she felt herself wrapped in a blanket and pressed against a warm chest. Green eyes looked down at her and, for a minute, she was struck by how large the person in front of her seemed to be. The friendly green eyes crinkled at the corners and a warm voice seemed to tumble out of the chest that she was leaning into. The woman’s voice was louder than everything else, and complete gibberish seemed to fall out of her mouth. 

It was at this point that, as she would be embarrassed to admit, she fell asleep. The scent of sweat emanating from the woman mixed pleasantly with a vague scent of honeysuckle and the blanket she was wrapped in was soft. She was sure that there were other people in the room, but very little mattered more than the body heat of the woman holding her and the fact that she was tired. She slept almost completely through the night, woken by pangs of hunger just as the first rays of morning fanned across the windowsill. 

When she opened her eyes this time, everything was significantly less blurry. The blanket she was nestled in was a pastel blue, and she was laying in what appeared to be a wooden bassinet next to a large mattress placed on the floor. The green-eyed woman woke instantly when she began to cry, and was quick to place a breast in her mouth. It was an intimate exchange, but as the sunlight began to filter into the room and the birds first began their morning calls, the world was peaceful. 

* * *

Her name was Uzumaki Ayame, and she was not supposed to be here. For those around her, it seemed that she spent all of the first three months of her life sleeping, eating, and complaining. Her family would gently tease her for her reddened cheeks that came every time she wailed for attention. However, Ayame’s propensity for watching was not lost on all of those around her: Uzumaki Mito would catch Ayame with quiet eyes turned on all of those around her, seemingly engrossed with every word each person spoke and every action each person made. They would make eye contact for a brief moment and Mito would give a small smile in return. 

The name Uzumaki was too familiar for Ayame to let anything pass her by, however. She had seen the stories woven about this place, and while she wasn’t entirely sure where she had ended up in its timeline, things did not usually end well for the Uzumaki. The only comfort she had was knowing that her name was not Kushina, and that she was probably not going to be selected as the next holder of the Kyuubi. Kushina seemed to be her older sister, given how often her name was mentioned through the paper walls of their home. Yet she had already been sent to Konohagakure to learn and train. 

Ayame didn’t have very much time. 

* * *

When Ayame reached around 4 months of age, her quiet disposition had drawn her an unfortunate amount of attention. She knew that babies were supposed to giggle, coo, and smile, and she did her best whenever her mother peered over the top of the bassinet or her father held her in his arms. They deserved the love of a normal, happy baby, and who was Ayame to take that joy away from them. And yet, she held so much anxiety. Ayame knew that she was not in Konohagakure; there weren’t enough trees casting shade on the front steps, the smell of salt drifted in through the open windows, and there were too many people with the last name “Uzumaki” running around. She was in Uzushiogakure, and her home was going to burn to the ground. 

The first time Ayame realized that her family was likely not going to survive the attack, she began to wail. Large tears pooled in her eyes and ran small rivers down her cheeks for the first time in her life. She made fists with tiny hands that she knew could not hurt or protect anyone and slammed them into her mattress pad. Both her mother and her father rushed into the room, and as she was picked up by the woman with the green eyes and a faint smell of the sea mixed with honeysuckle, Ayame cried harder. Her father with red hair that seemed to defy any attempt at corraling shushed her quietly, but she could not be soothed. Ayame could not say that she fully loved these parents, but she knew that she felt loved, and time would have taken care of the rest. She wept for the futures she was sure that they would not have, and for the name that would be carried on only in her older sister’s single son, damned to grow up alone. Ayame cried for his impending loneliness, and for the world she believed she would never even have the chance to know. 

The following morning, Ayame committed herself to trying to live as long as possible. She might not survive the attack on her newfound home, but the life she had been given here was supplemental to one that she already had lived. She could lose another life if she had to, but if she could work to avoid it, she at least had something to do. 

From that point onwards, Ayame began working whenever she was left unattended. She did everything that she could from inside a playpen or in a bassinet that would strengthen her whole body. She pushed her pudgy torso off the ground as many times as she could when she was left alone on her stomach, and kicked her legs up in the air any time she was left on her back. She could sit without support by the time she reached five months, and had most of the control over her own comically large head. It was a cruel joke to place the mind of a twenty-four year old in the body of an infant, Ayame thought as she practiced tipping her head to her left shoulder for the second time that day. At that moment, Mito interrupted Ayame’s monologue, sweeping in through the front door and into the temporary playroom where Ayame sat on a padded, green pad made of terrycloth. Mito smiled warmly at Ayame’s excited yell of surprise, and was happy to pick Ayame up and settle her on her hip. 

“Your parents and I all have a surprise for you, Aya-chan: your parents will be coming in the door in a minute with your sister. She is very excitable, and very loud, and both of those tend to compound on each other. Just smile through it, shizuko .”

True to Mito’s word, Kushina came barreling through the front door soon after. Red hair trailed behind her as she threw her shoes off at the front door and resumed her semi-dignified sprint to the playroom. She slid almost half a meter before coming to a rest squarely in front of Mito. Green eyes met as Kushina looked expectantly at Ayame, who blinked slowly and waited. 

“Maaa, Mito-san, she isn’t doing anything!”

“She’s only a few months old, Kushina, you can’t have such high expectations. She’s a baby, and she can only do so much,” chided their mother, whose voice carried from just inside the front doorway. Ayame scoffed just loudly enough for Mito to hear, and they made eye contact. The laugh lines etched into Mito’s face deepened for a moment as she resisted a smile. 

“Would you like to hold her, Kushina?” her mother’s voice continued on, oblivious of the exchange between the Kyuubi-container and the infant with the eyes that were always watching. Kushina nodded enthusiastically, and Ayame was placed from Mito’s careful hold into Kushina’s much smaller one. Ayame looked at her sister, with pin-straight red hair, round face, and slightly baggy clothes and smiled. Impending doom to Uzushio or not, her sister would live and love and have a child of her own one day, and Ayame could hold on to the beauty of a future for Kushina. 

“She’s cuter than I thought she’d be,” Kushina mused, with a much softer tone. 

Kushina’s visit was not meant to last long, however. She had missed lessons in Konohagakure in order to meet her younger sister, and soon departed Uzushio with Mito to continue her studies. Ayame continued her own self-guided studies until she could make vague requests of her parents in their own language, and pull herself up to a standing position. Less than two months after Kushina’s departure, Uzushio descended into chaos. 

* * *

When reflecting on it later, Ayame wouldn’t be able to say which had woken her first: the smell of smoke and the sound of screaming were both overpowering as they ripped her from dreams. The smell of honeysuckle met her as she was wrapped in the same pastel blanket that she was put in when she was born. Bundled tight, her mother tied her across her chest. She heard the vague clinking of metal but couldn’t possibly see what her mother was grabbing before darting out into the night air. Instead of cool, like it should have been, the heat met Ayame’s face violently, and it took all of her self control not to cry into the darkness. She fisted the front of her mother’s kimono instead, breathing in the scent of flowers in a desperate attempt to stay calm. Her mother shushed her gently and darted to the left, away from the heat of the other buildings and towards the shoreline where Ayame heard quiet mutterings. Nothing was discernible, but Ayame felt herself get passed into someone else’s arms; they smelled like steel and sweat and, out of instinct, Ayame began to sniffle and reach back out to her mother. 

“Momma-” Ayame began, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. 

“Hush, Ayame. Everything will be alright. You’re going to go to Konohagakure to join your sister, and you’ll be safe. Your father and I will meet you there after everything is finished here-- there’s no reason to cry.” Her mother spoke with an intensity that betrayed her own nervousness, but also emphasized her resolve. It was clear to Ayame that her mother genuinely believed what she had said. A thousand words ricocheted around Ayame’s head in a language that her mother could not possibly understand. 

_ You won’t survive: the village and those in it are a loss! Please don’t leave me alone in this world.  _

Ayame swallowed. 

“I love you momma” spilled out of her mouth as the first tears spilled from her eyes. 

“I love you too, Ayame.” 

She was gone. 

  
  



	2. In which Ayame meets the Nose-Cackler

The boat was unsteady beneath them as the waters churned, pitching the man holding her from side to side. The waters were an unfriendly steel grey, frothing at the tops with each small wave’s crest, and were wickedly cold. To fall into the waters was to almost guarantee death, either from hypothermia from the chill or drowning from the whirlpools. The person navigating the boat seemed to be familiar with the waters and the boat all of them were huddled in, as he wove them between the loudest and most vicious of the swirling pools without incident. The glow of the burning they were leaving behind slowly faded against their backs and the heat from the massive fire abandoned them as they pushed further into the darkness. Ayame seemed to hold her breath for centuries at a time; afraid of disturbing the blackness around them with even the smallest noise. It was like a nightmare from within her previous life: there were monsters lurking in the dark, and to make a sound would be to call them to you. Yet here there would be no mom to gently nudge her awake, no hugs, no hot chocolate and reassurance that her fears were exaggerated-- there could easily be monsters hiding in the darkness here, and she could not afford to draw any attention to the boat slithering its way across the chopping water. 

In the final rays of light from the burning of Uzushio, Ayame tilted her head to look squarely at the face of the person holding her. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she realized that the jawline of the person whose arms she had been placed into was too soft to belong to the man that she had expected from the person’s smell. The woman looked down, grey eyes softening and red hair framing her face. She was younger than Ayame had expected too, likely only a teenager. She tucked one strand behind her ear and leaned more fully over Ayame, resettling the bundle and child more comfortably on her lap. 

“Don’t worry, Ayame-san. We shouldn’t be on the waters long and Raiku-san is a very good mariner.” The woman smiled, but worry seemed to linger in the tension around her eyes. 

“Don’t make promises I can’t keep, Ichika. We can’t move straight towards the Land of Fire here-- the whirlpools are too treacherous this time of the year and it would be exactly what Kirigakure would expect. We’re going the long way around- due South until we make landfall and then West towards Konoha.” There was weight and gravel in Raiku’s voice that made Ayame’s stomach tense and her fingers fist the edges of her blanket. Riaku’s plan made sense, and clearly he was an expert on navigation in this area, but the idea of spending longer dodging enemy nin made Ayame’s stomach turn over. Ayame's gaze wandered around the various people crammed in the boat with her, Raiku, and Ichika. There had to be at least 6 of them, and Ayame wasn’t sure how many of the Uzumaki had ever escaped the burning of Uzushio to lead the rest of their lives in hiding. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to push through the memory block, which Ichika took as an indication that Ayame was about to cry. Preemptively, Ichika scooped Ayame off of her lap again and began bouncing her gently to soothe her. As wonderful a gesture as this was, it was also horrifically distracting. After several minutes, Ayame gave up trying to remember. It would come to her or it wouldn’t, and the more she tried to remember the easier it would slip away from her mental grasp. Besides, if the ship made landfall and she made it to Konoha, she would have her answer regardless. 

As the hours passed, the knot in Ayame’s stomach found a way to unwind itself. The screaming and heat that had punctuated her rough awakening hours before seemed to melt into the tides below them. The rocking of the boat settled as they traveled further and further from the whirlpools that had protected their home, and they seemed to glide silently and quickly now atop the mostly still waters. Ayame slid in and out of consciousness until the sun began to rise to their left. Deep crimson gave way to vibrant reds and oranges, and a single through flitted across Ayame’s consciousness. 

_ Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, red sky in morning, sailor’s warning. _

* * *

There was laughter in the distance. Multiple voices melded together; one that Ayame could pick out was a man whose high-pitched chortling was coming entirely from his nose. Briefly Ayame wondered if anyone had ever told him to stop- his laugh couldn’t have been attractive to any person, and it made him sound like a cartoon villain. 

“Look what we caught, Hansuke!” he paused. “Dinner.”

Raiku dropped the paddles he was using and stood to full height in the boat, his sudden motion causing it to rock threateningly. Ayame watched as Ichika stiffened and slowly lowered Ayame from her chest. The laughing on the shore petered out as both groups tried to appraise the other, even the men on the shore picking up on the tension amongst the boat-dwellers. Unfortunately for Ayame, Ichika was lowering her to a new vantage point that consisted of laying on the floor of the boat, still wrapped in her blue blanket. As Ichika took a standing position, slightly behind Raiku, Ayame tried to meet her eyes with a glare. What is with all of these people and being absolutely stupid--throwing themseves into fights without plans? She let out a single indignant huff from her position on the wood planks at the bottom of the boat and shot Ichika the darkest look a 6-month-old could. She willed her thoughts to travel into Ichika’s head from hers:  _ don’t you dare leave me here on the bottom of a dirty boat to throw yourself into a fight. If you die I swear to god I will curse your name as I starve to death here.  _

Ichika paused in drawing her kunai, but quickly squared her shoulders and turned her back to Ayame on the floor.  _ Dumbass _ , Ayame thought spitefully. She watched from her vantage point as all of the remaining Uzushio residents stood from their places, drew their own weapons, and stepped onto the water lapping against the sides of the boat. 

There was a brief moment where Ayame noticed that the birds had stopped chirping in the distance, and there was total silence. Nature itself held its breath, and Ayame closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to be able to see anything besides a cheerful sky anyway, and the friendly blue seemed to mock her. She heard the first clash of metal against metal, but she would never know who had made the first move. If she had to bet, it was one of the men on the shore getting cocky and impatient. Ayame noted how long it took for the sounds to progress any further; both groups relied on taijutsu and basic weaponry for what she considered an oddly long time. It was likely a combination of two things, Ayame mused from her place in the abandoned boat. Both groups were assessing the other for strengths and weaknesses, and both groups thought they were going to need to save their strength for something later on. After what felt like a century, there was the squelch of blade hitting flesh, the sound of a scream abruptly cut short, and two distinct splashes. 

* * *

_ “What do you think you’re doing, Caitlin?” Her resident snapped. _

_ “He’s hemorrhaging from somewhere, I just can’t find where, and I can’t see anything in his damn abdominal cavity like this. Nurse, suction this out and prep an extra four bags of B-positive.” _

_ “If you don’t find the source of the blood loss, he’s going to die on the table, but if you don’t close where the bullet opened his stomach, he’s going to get sepsis and die regardless. Figure out a way to manage both, or get out of my operating room.”  _

_ “Then just tell me what I need to do, because neither of us want to tell this man’s wife that she’s going to be raising their kid alone!” _

* * *

Ayame opened her eyes and saw, for a brief second, the lights of an operating gallery and the disapproving face of her resident from her trauma rotation. Blinking rapidly, her eyes adjusted to see the sun high above her head and the face of a man she didn’t recognize standing above her. 

“Hansuke, there’s a fuckin’ baby in here too! What do ya wanna do with it?” 

She couldn’t say for sure, but she was almost positive this is the man that had cackled through his nose. If given the opportunity, Ayame resolved herself to biting it with the single tooth poking through her top gum line. 

“Don’t hurt her! Please!” Ichika’s voice carried over the water, and the man hovering above her gave a wicked grin. 

“Don’t worry lady. I’m not into ‘em this young, anyways.”

That settled it. This man was getting bitten. 

The strange man grabbed the front of the blanket where it was wrapped around her and yanked her unceremoniously out of the boat. Ichika gasped, clearly scandalized by the manhandling of a baby, but Ayame didn’t care too much. She had been strengthening her neck against this gargantuan skull of hers for a reason, and this was a better reason than most. For the first time in at least an hour, Ayame had the ability to assess exactly where they were. Land was about a mile away from where they were; the boat had likely drifted with the tides and the fight had followed it away from the shoreline. The water around them had turned an imposing, dark red for 20 feet in every direction, and no one was leaving the fight unscathed. Ayame caught sight of Raiku’s floating face-down around 10 feet away, blood seeping out from a gash that extended from his bottom rib to the top of his hip. Ayame gnawed on her lower lip and fisted the edge of her blanket in an attempt not to cry. He wasn’t family to her yet, by any stretch; she hadn’t known him for more than 12 hours, but he had been a person before her two hours ago. He had been purposeful and vital. Now he was not. 

Her actions caught the eye of both Hansuke and the odd man, dubbed Nose-Cackler. 

“What’s wrong with this fuckin’ baby, eh? Don’t babies cry or some shit?” He pretended to drop her, just to catch her right before she actually hit the water. Ichika gave a gasp somewhere behind him, but he managed to ignore it. He gave Ayame a toothy grin as he yanked her back up to face level. Ayame fixed him with the same nasty look she had shot Ichika earlier that day and huffed into his face. 

“No,” Ayame said pointedly. The word sort of tripped out of her mouth and didn’t have the same bite that she had hoped to communicate, but the surprise on Nose-Cackler’s face was worth the extra effort. Hansuke seemed to find Nose-Cackler’s shock as funny as Ayame did, and a smile crept onto his features momentarily. Hansuke took one deep breath, surveyed the scene, and turned East. 

“We’re an 8 hour run from land and another 3 hours from Kiri after that. If we hurry, we can make it before nightfall and have our pay in our hands this evening. Let’s get going,” Hansuke commanded in a smooth baritone. 

“But what are we supposed to do with the baby, Hansuke? What if it poops or cries or throws up or does whatever babies do?” Nose-cackler whined, pitch rising to an obnoxious degree. Ayame slid her eyes to meet Hansuke’s appraising gaze and wiggled her hands up to cover her ears in a show of blocking out Nose-Cackler’s complaining. Hansuke’s lips tilted up in another grin. 

“If you’re so worried about it, then I’ll take the baby. You can carry her.” Hansuke shoved Ichika toward Nose-Cackler with a hand pressed firmly against her lower back. Ayame briefly scanned over Ichika’s body, but didn’t see any major injuries that would leave her so defenseless. Still, Ayame was placed into Hansuke’s arms and her blanket was rewrapped to press her against the chest place of his body armor. It was unpleasantly cold against her cheek, and she gave what could be considered an age-inappropriate grimace at the situation. With a deep breath, Ayame felt herself begin to get ushered away from her own people for the second time in 24 hours. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for paying attention to this story- I wasn't going to publish the next chapter until tomorrow morning, but I had already finished. I highly doubt I will be updating more than three times per week, but I'm hoping for that to be my standard for the next while. Thanks for reading, and all of your lovely comments!


	3. In which the Nose-Cackler gets a name

Ayame didn’t want to be presumptuous, but it seemed that Hansuke had some limited experience with children. Ayame had started to doze off after an hour of the rhythmic press of his feet on the waves, but Hansuke gradually slowed to a stop, garnering her attention once again. A set of brown eyes looked over her appraisingly and he brought one hand to stroke his jawline. 

“That can’t possibly be very comfortable,” he noted. His tone was neither mocking nor aggressive, but matter-of-fact as he assessed the way he was carrying Ayame. As he began to adjust the knot of the blanket pressing Ayame in place, Ichika’s voice cut over the sound of the water below them. 

“You better not hurt a hair on that girl’s head, I swear to Kami that you’ll regret it.” Defiance shone in Ichika’s eyes, and her words came out clear despite the slight heaving of her chest. Nose-cackler had decided that the weight of the fully-grown woman was too much, and that she was going to have to run slightly in front of them while they travelled. Every time that she had fallen slightly behind pace, the Nose Cackler had jabbed her from behind with the handle end of a kunai. It was clear to Ayame at this point that Ichika had next to no fighting skills, and if Ayame remained unharmed through the course of their trip, it would have absolutely nothing to do with the empty threats being thrown out of the woman’s mouth. Hansuke clearly didn’t believe her either, and raised a single dark eyebrow in response to Ichika’s outburst. He did not stop in his ministrations, either; he untied the blanket, rewrapped Ayame in it, and held her out wordlessly to his companion with a single hand. Hansuke continued by pulling off his flak jacket with his right hand and pulling out a sealing scroll with his left. Through a complicated juggling maneuver that was hard to see fully from her vantage point, Hansuke shedded his flak jacket and underlying armor, sealed the armor away, and set his flak jacket back into place. 

“Are ya sure that’s such a good idea, Hansuke?” the Nose-Cackler began in her ear. “We’re a long ways away from Kiri and we can’t be sure that there won’t be any more of those boats floating around.” Despite his obnoxious tone, Ayame had to acknowledge that he did have a point. Flak jackets seemed to offer a fair bit of protection, but to shed the armor that he was clearly used to wearing could be opening himself up to more damage if they found any trouble. Though, Ayame mused silently, being ambushed right now could be a blessing or a curse. She had no real way of identifying herself as a victim in this situation, and shinobi probably weren’t going to want to sort out politics with a 6-month old before attempting to take out any combattants. Hansuke scoffed at the Nose-Cackler’s response, pulling Ayame out of her thoughts. 

“We can move faster if I’m not weighed down. Besides, our forces should have left Uzushio hours ago. Any boats would have been cleared up by the second wave of reinforcements by now.” Ayame couldn’t resist the temptation to roll her eyes, but no one in their group was looking at her to notice. Hansuke was clearly doing it because he felt bad that her face had been smushed up against the metal for so long; this man had a soft spot for babies. For a brief moment, Ayame let herself picture the man in front of her as a father: Hansuke attempting to change a baby’s diaper, playing tag in a park, or pretending a spoon was a train so that he could shove it in a baby’s mouth. 

Huh. She hadn’t eaten for hours. 

Ayame was hungry. 

A part of her realized that the sudden shift in thoughts was probably a consequence of still being this young, but she resolved to largely let it go. If she was hungry, she was hungry, and she was certainly not planning on not eating for the other 9 hours it was going to take for them to get to Kiri. So, Ayame did what she knew how to do best: she began to wiggle inside the blanket holding her, letting out an angry shout when she finally got the attention of the three adults in their party. 

“Oh god, Hansuke,” the Nose-Cackler started to whine, his voice beginning to pitch to a threateningly high octave. “This thing is going to start screaming, I just know it. What do you want, ya nasty demon?” 

Nose-Cackler accentuated his own question by jerking Ayame’s face to just in front of his own, placing her at the perfect spot to do what she had been waiting for this entire time. She might not get the opportunity to eat after this, but she could tide herself over on satisfaction alone if necessary. Ayame furrowed her eyebrows and lurched forward, latching her single tooth on the tip of the Nose-Cackler’s nose and applying as much force as she possibly could. 

Hansuke burst out laughing as the Nose-Cackler began to scream. Just as Ayame tasted blood beginning to trickle into her mouth, she felt herself quickly flung away from the man’s face. Ichika lurched and managed to catch her just before she hit the water.   
“You nasty child, that was a terrible idea!” Ichika chided, but Ayame’s eyes glowed with joy as she began a long series of giggles. Ayame started to catch her breath after 30 seconds of laughter, but made the mistake of looking over at the Nose-Cackler before she was able to completely calm herself. There was a single dot of blood on the very tip of his nose, and his entire face seemed to scrunch into that single focal point: his unkempt eyebrows were drawn together, lips pursed tightly, and dark brown eyes were crossed to try to see the damage that Ayame had done. She couldn’t help it. Ayame began laughing all over again. 

“That thing! I want it dead! Dead, dead, dead!” The Nose-Cackler was raging in Hansuke’s direction, but the man was now doubled over, wheezing towards the waves underneath all of their feet. Nose-Cackler spun on his heels and pointed a single finger accusingly in her direction. Ayame hadn’t quite realized how lanky a man he was until she saw him seemingly stretched to his longest; he attempted to tower over Ayame and Ichika, but only served to make himself look even more awkward. 

“Enough, Kenta,” Hansuke managed to sound authoritative, despite having clearly winded himself from laughing too hard. Ayame and Ichika shared a single shocked look at learning the gangly Kiri-nin’s name.  _ Strong and big, huh?  _ Ayame gave Ichika a wicked grin and her eyes slid back to Kenta’s form, now fully facing his commander.  _ Kami is a cruel individual if that boy was given the name Kenta. I wonder if his parents realize what they’ve done.  _ As her gaze slid back to Ichika, she realized that if she wanted to fully use the situation to her benefit, she had one more thing to accomplish. 

Wiggling ferociously in her blanket, Ayame managed to free her right arm from its binding. She looked up at Ichika with the biggest eyes she possibly could and began to rub her empty belly. If Ichika didn’t understand this message, she would have to be the dumbest person on the planet and Ayame would be forced to wait until the next time Hansuke decided they would stop to be able to get food. Luckily enough, comprehension dawned across Ichika’s eyes and she began to pat around her pockets. Hansuke looked over Kenta’s shoulders inquisitively, and Ichika paused in her search to bring the rest of the group up to speed. 

“The baby is hungry,” Ichika supplied shortly. Kenta began to break into another tirade about how demons don’t have bodily needs, but Hansuke shushed him with a single palm-up gesture. 

“Do you have anything with you, then?”

“Of course I do; I figured I would be taking care of her regardless.” Ichika shot the Kiri duo a particularly haughty look as she pulled what appeared to be a small tube of paste out of her pocket and uncapped it. A small amount of the orange baby food oozed out of the mouth of the tube, and Ayame took it happily into her mouth. She couldn't quite articulate what it was, but it seemed to be some combination of sweet potato and other vegetables, and it tasted respectable enough. Kenta began pacing the water where they had stopped, glare drawing his brows together so intently that it looked like he had a unibrow. His snarl contorted his features into an even less appealing way, and his grotesque caricature of his own features managed to emphasize the differences between him and Hansuke even further. Hansuke just stood, hands crossed across his chest, staring out across the water towards their inevitable destination. He did not spare a glance to his partner’s prowling; he was either completely used to the antics of the other man or was not willing to encourage it by giving it attention. Soon, the tube of food was empty, Ayame’s belly was much more comfortably full, and she was reluctantly handed back over to Hansuke. The blanket was tied in a knot between his shoulder blades, securing Ayame to his front. 

“If you puke on me, I am going to be upset about it,” Hansuke said lightly, shooting Ayame a wry look. “I may not throw you into the ocean, or  _ call for your death _ ,” he continued, shooting Kenta an unimpressed look, “but I already went through one change of clothes for your comfort, and neither of us want me putting on anything dirtier than what I’m already wearing.” 

Ayame met his gaze head on and burped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had two different exams this week; sorry for not updating sooner. I expect to get a second update out tomorrow, and I'm hoping to keep a 2 chapters/week schedule fairly consistent. Thank you all for reading, and I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!   
> ~P&P


	4. In which Ayame gets adopted

The remainder of the journey went without incident, and Ayame was able to sleep surprisingly soundly in the arms of a man who had killed her people. It would be something for reflection later, she figured, and it wasn’t worth it to deprive herself of sleep now considering there was absolutely nothing that she could do about her current situation. She was being carried by Hansuke to Kirigakure, and short of vomiting down the man’s front, she didn’t have a better course of action. Ichika continued to follow along behind them, only letting out a pained hiss any time Kenta decided that she wasn’t moving fast enough. It sort of surprised Ayame that Hansuke was as nice as he appeared to be on the surface. Sure, he had killed people she was probably related to in some way, but he didn’t seem to take pleasure in the position that he was relegated to. Kenta, on the other hand, was Hansuke’s complete contrast. Lanky, awkward, unattractive, with a galloping stride that revealed how he strongly favored his right side, Kenta was the antithesis of grace. His smile revealed yellowing, pointed teeth, and he took pleasure in finding any excuse to jab Ichika from behind. 

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Ayame realized that it was distinctly possible that she would end up in the care of someone like Kenta as opposed to someone like Hansuke, if she even lived past Kiri’s gates.  _ Though _ , she mused,  _ I definitely have lived longer than I had expected to regardless. I have no choice than to take this one step at a time, and this is definitely one step past any plan that I had. I wish I knew enough to figure out any plan from here, though. All I can figure is that I have to be about Kakashi’s age, maybe a little younger, and Kiri definitely is an active part of the Shinobi War.  _ Ayame sighed into the chest supporting her head and balled her hands into fists briefly.  _ I wish I knew anything about how old Kisame actually is relative to Kakashi, or even how old Zabuza is. They’re the only people from Kirigakure that I ever really knew about, and it would be a real fucking shame if I manage to live long enough to be murdered by Zabuza in my graduating year.  _

_ Though, I know that Zabuza manages to live for a respectable amount of time, and has some vague inclinations for compassion, because he takes Haku in once he reaches adulthood.  _ Ayame reached her hand up and scratched an itch on a ruddy, chubby cheek, and grimaced slightly at the feel of the baby fat beneath her fingers. Pushing the momentary sour feeling of her body not truly being her own, Ayame continued to mull over Zabuza.  _ He defects and joins the Mist resistance some time after the war, and after Gato orders all of the clan kids murdered, or something like that. He may murder his whole class, but something about Gato’s callousness gets to him. It’s possible that even if I am in his class, I can at the very least avoid being murdered, if not actually befriend him in some way. It’s a stretch,  _ Ayame conceded with a touch of bitterness,  _ but it’s really the best thing I have.  _

_ It’s distinctly possible, of course, that I’m actually older than I think I am, closer to Kisame or Kakashi’s ages, but that would be a bummer. I don’t know if Zabuza actually fought in the Shinobi War, but that’s part of what made Kisame notorious. If I end up stuck in Kiri, being a civilian is not a real option; they treated their people like absolute ass and at the very least the ninja didn’t starve. But how much do I really want to stand up for Kiri in an international war? Being a civilian would allow me to avoid that altogether, but it’s also a way of guaranteeing that I won’t be able to make nearly as much change in this world that I’d like.  _ Ayame rolled her eyes, her decision fully made already.  _ There is not a single chance that I won’t feel the immense need to meddle in everyone’s business. I may not know a lot about the people of Kiri, but what Gato did was fucked twenty times over, and what Konoha did to the Uchiha clan was almost as bad. And, at this point, Kushina is still alive.  _ Ayame sucked in a large breath through her nose and held it, feeling the push on her ribs as they stretched outwards.  _ Could I even feasibly save Kushina? What would happen if I tried? If she’s like, 6 or 7 right now, she’s not even going to be pregnant for another 13 or 14 years. So max, I have 15 years to grow up, become a ninja in Kiri, leave Kiri, and be strong enough to take out the person who’s going to kill my sister and brother-in-law of sorts _ . 

Ayame gave a loud snort, drawing Hansuke’s attention for a brief moment. His eyes narrowed and his brows pulled together while he waited for the baby to do something. When Ayame didn’t move or make any further sounds, he refocused on the path before them. They had made landfall about an hour and a half ago, and their party had made it past two different Kiri border patrols. Even if the child strapped to his chest had any other needs, Kenta would be far too twitchy to stop this close to the village. With a mental shrug, Hansuke continued forward. 

* * *

“So what exactly is that, Hansuke?” a man sitting behind a large and rather full desk asked curtly.

“Well, I’ve heard that most people call them ‘babies’ -- has your vision been bothering you this much, Naoki-san? I’ve heard that’s a problem for people in their old age.” Ayame watched as Hansuke’s throat bobbed and his jaw tensed momentarily, indicating his struggle to keep a straight face in front of the man that was clearly his superior. Kenta’s shrill cry cut through the air like a sword:

“It’s a monster, Naoki-san!” Kenta pointed a finger at Ayame accusingly, his shoulders practically pressed against his ears in indignation. “That thing  _ bit me _ ,” he said, voice dropping low and throwing a cautious glance at her over his shoulder. The older man, Naoki, wore the standard Kiri flak jacket, black undershirt peeking out around the collar. His hair was held out of his face with the Kiri headband, black hair with the occasional streaks of grey falling flat and loosely around his head. He fixed Ayame with an intense, appraising stare, dark brown eyes meeting her own hazel. Still strapped to Hansuke’s chest, Ayame gave him as close to a wicked smile as she could before bursting into loud, more age-appropriate giggles. Naoki drew in a deep breath through his nose and held it a moment before attempting to continue. 

“How old are you?” Naoki asked, Ayame still fixed under his stare. For a brief moment, she considered not answering his question. She was less than a year old, and she really shouldn’t be talking very much. Though being considered a prodigy in this village might save her ass for the rest of this interaction, since she didn’t really want to bet that anyone in Kiri would risk anything for some strange baby because of the ‘sanctity of life’. 

“6,” Ayame answered, both forgetting the word for ‘month’ and figuring that speaking in anything more than basic, singular words would get her in more trouble than it was worth. If Naoki was put off by her responding, he didn’t make any motion of it. 

“And did you bite Kenta?”

Ayame couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yes.” 

Naoki’s gaze weighed even heavier on her for a moment until he cleared his throat. 

“Both of you are dismissed. I’m sure that you know what to do with the prisoner, and I expect your mission reports on my desk tomorrow. Kenta, give me the woman’s belongings, and Hansuke, leave the child with me.” His tone left no room for argument, and Ayame felt the blanket slacken around her for a moment as Hansuke untied the knot that had rested just at the base of his neck and placed her on the imposing man’s desk. 

Ayame watched the flutter around the room as Ichika’s pockets were emptied and their contents dumped on the floor next to the desk that Ayame was laying on. The act of Ichika shedding herself of personal belongings and trudging out of the room seemed to last a month in and of itself-- she moved as laboriously as possible as she rid herself of every single item, and her grey eyes remained fixed on Ayame the whole time. Ayame felt weight behind her eyes as the threat of crying washed over her, but she bit the inside of her cheek to contain any potential meltdown. She would need to pass as a potential weapon for Kiri if she wanted to survive, but watching the last member of her own family agonize so visibly was difficult to handle silently. Ayame’s own gaze trailed after Ashika’s retreating back once the woman had finally begun walking to the door. Silence stretched inside the room as Ayame listened very carefully to the three sets of footsteps walking down the hallway until they faded into nothingness. She fisted her blue blanket with both hands and debated her current position. Naoki was clearly older, and someone of high enough authority that Kenta avoided being particularly obnoxious. Yet, she was still sitting on his desk and was just going to have to wait to see what his plan was. She wasn’t being brought to some infant torture chamber, and if they were just going to let her starve, they wouldn’t have bothered retaining the baby food tubes that had been hastily shoved in Ichika’s pockets. So the metaphorical ball was entirely in Naoki’s court. 

Yet, he just continued to work: filling out paperwork and occasionally having small teams filter in to give general mission reports. Every single group had at least one person shoot Ayame a surprised glance or two, but not a single ninja had the audacity to question why precisely their gruff superior had a baby sitting on his desk like some messy paperweight. After an hour of Ayame practicing her numbers by counting spider webs collecting in the corners of Naoki’s office, she felt the intense desire to get down and move under her own power for a minute. She was still young-- too young to be walking by herself, but she was sick of being relegated to being carried. So, Ayame took the initiative, sat up on the desk, and fixed the commanding Kiri officer with as serious a look as she could muster. 

“Ah!” she grunted, pulling his attention out of the paper he was filling. Naoki quirked his left eyebrow, an amused expression taking a few years off of his appearance. Ayame grunted a second time and stuck her right arm out, pointing as aggressively at the floor as she possibly could. 

“You’d like to be put down?” he posited, beginning to stand to pluck her off the desk. 

“Y-yes,” Ayame stuttered as her tongue wouldn’t quite comply with the agility she wanted. “Down,” she firmly parroted back, internally pleased at the clarity of the word she produced.

Naoki fixed her in another glance, its weight pressing down on her for a brief moment before he sighed and placed her fully on the ground next to his feet. A world of possibilities immediately opened up to her, as Naoki’s focus drifted back to the files muddying the top of his desk and Ayame was free to do as she pleased. She began practicing pushing herself up from on her stomach, and additionally mentally committed to practice rolling over, sitting up, and rolling her neck in both directions. When she had passed through her exercises several times, she felt the atmosphere in the room change, and the stink of perfume seemed to fill the entire room. 

“Hello Aneko-san. Thank you for coming.” Naoki’s voice became both strained and slightly saccharine with the entrance of the heavily-scented woman. 

“I’m sure there must be an excellent reason that you called me here, Naoki-sama. It is a Friday evening, as you know, and I am  _ incredibly _ busy,” the stranger said, leaning heavily into the penultimate word. The threat against the older nin seemed to mingle in the air with her perfume, but Naoki seemed to pay it very little mind. 

“Of course, Aneko-san. We recovered a child while running missions, and I had heard you were upset that the last child was not placed in your care.” Ayame could see from her vantage point on the white tile floor that, while Naoki was smiling, there was tension sweeping from under his eyes, almost meeting his eyebrows. The civility in the air was downright cold. Ayame flicked her gaze to the older woman, wondering momentarily what could cause her to be so bothered by the placement of children with others, when she realized what she had been missing. 

_ Oh hell no. You cannot be serious. Kami, if you’re listening, this is really fucked up and I will not forgive you.  _

Aneko-san broke into a wide, predatory smile that deepened Ayame’s blooming anxiety. 

“Thank you very much, Naoki-san, for thinking of us.” Aneko-san shot Ayame a quick, assessing look. Ayame couldn’t help but fidget slightly under her gaze, realizing exactly what the expression ‘deer in the headlights’ had meant. Noting Ayame’s clear discomfort, Aneko-san continued. “She’s a bit younger than we normally take, but with that hair color, you have truly done us a service. Thank you, and I assume that will be all.” 

Without waiting for a response, Aneko san swept Ayame up into her arms, the extra fabric in the sleeves of her yukata mussing Ayame’s hair. She gave a brief, but shallow smile towards the baby in her arms, grabbed the supplies dumped from Ichika’s pockets, and whisked Ayame away from the shinobi office. Evening had fallen, and the air was thankfully cooler than it had been during the day. The air in Kiri had been thick with humidity and mist clung to every single building when she had initially arrived with Hansuke and the others, but the loss of the sun made the air more tolerable. Despite Aneko-san’s brisk pace, the walk away from the central tower of the village took at least 30 minutes, and the smell of smoke, sewage, and alcohol got stronger the longer they were traveling. 

_ Kami, I will never forgive you,  _ Ayame thought, glaring at the sign on the building they had stopped at.

It was a brothel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is longer than the previous one; I don't have a beta, so if you see any issues, let me know so I can fix them.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and stay healthy!  
> ~P&P


	5. In which Ayame makes a friend. Sort of.

“Oh my god she is so cuuuuuuuuuuuute!” one of the young twenty-somethings shrieked into the ear of the woman currently holding Ayame. The girl had shocking blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, and overdrawn red lips. Her eyebrows were plucked thin and her skin was paler than Ayame ever remembered seeing on a healthy person in her last life. The haze that hung in the air seemed to imply that not all of the woman’s complexion could be attributed to staying inside, though: it was very likely that the woman had a great deal of perfumed powder applied across her whole body. She had a pretty smile that brought vibrancy to her whole face though, and Ayame couldn’t help but return it with a small grin of her own. Flicking her eyes across the group of girls gathered around her, the intensity of the colors immediately struck her; all of the people that they had passed on the long walk from the tower to the brothel had dark brown or black hair with dark eyes, while the woman surrounding her were almost all the complete opposite. She could see only two brunettes, three redheads, and five blondes (including the girl who was now exuberantly pressed with her whole weight into Aneko-san’s back). Multiple thoughts swirled in Ayame’s head at once, but most culminated on a graphic visualization of what Aneko-san would have done to Naoki if Ayame had been given to another woman and another business. Foreign appearances seemed to be her preferred dealing, and Aneko-san gave off an air of viciousness that would likely have led to a very bloody office. 

Through all of Ayame’s thoughts, Aneko-san’s gaze alternated between the baby in her arms and each of the girls, who were vibrating with anticipation. The matriarch’s silence managed to press down and crush the excitement permeating the room, corralling them into quiet. 

“Gen, come here.” All of the girls in the room straightened slightly at the rough quality of the command, and one of the redheads that had stood towards the back of the cluster of girls made her way to stand in front of Aneko-san and Ayame. She had a frailty to her that made her age hard to guess; she had large eyes for her face that made her seem even younger, a straight nose, and very little makeup on. A light blue kimono was draped expertly across her shoulders with sakura petals embroidered into the fabric next to each hem. Without regard for Ayame’s curious inspection of the young girl in front of them, Aneko-san continued. “You are the closest to her in appearance, and I will be placing her in your care until a time at which she can assist in the running of the business. You’ll receive a small additional percentage of each night’s pooled earnings to deal with the extra costs of food and clothing-- I anticipate there won’t be any problems.” 

Gen’s light brown eyes turned down to meet Ayame’s for the first time, and Ayame watched as fear overtook her young features.  _ She doesn’t want to have to care for a child-- who’s to say she’s any older than a child herself _ , Ayame figured.  _ I completely understand the concern, of course, but it could be worse: I could be like a real baby and need more than just her managing to keep me alive until I can do it myself. It isn’t like I’m some extraordinary burden, I’m just a physically incapable grown-adult.  _ Ayame shrugged internally.  _ Not that she knows that, but she’ll figure it out.  _ Still, the anxiety that was marring this girl’s genuinely lovely features was a bit hard to look at, so Ayame gave her the biggest smile that she could force and hoped that it wasn’t going to be more off-putting than staring at her in silence. Despite Ayame’s concerns, it seemed to lift a weight off of the girl’s shoulders, and she reached down to pull Ayame from Aneko-san’s arms.

“I will watch over her, Obaasan,” Gen said, straightening up. She looked down at Ayame once again as she fiddled with the blanket to reposition the baby more comfortably in her arms. As Gen’s arms dug into her back, Ayame realized the full extent of why Gen appeared to be so frail upon first glance. The muscle tone seen on many of the other girls just wasn’t present on this girl’s body.  _ It could be malnutrition,  _ Ayame thought with a twinge of bitterness,  _ because it isn’t like Kiri is good at taking care of its people. I would say that it’s because of her not being as good of a prostitute, but if they pool their earnings as Aneko-san said, then that shouldn’t actually matter. She was standing alone-- she could be newer--less integrated into the social circles here and with less time to be well-fed?  _ Ayame dismissed the speculations without a second thought. It wouldn’t matter what she figured was true because she got the feeling that she was going to be around for quite a while and would see for herself. 

* * *

Life around the brothel wasn’t as bad as Ayame had anticipated. Despite the violent undercurrent that simmered underneath all of Aneko-san’s words and actions, she wasn’t difficult to live with. She had high expectations for Ayame that might have been too much for a normal toddler, but as an adult in a toddler’s body, commands like “Shut up!” and “Sit still!” weren’t particularly challenging. Everyone in the brothel referred to her as Obaasan, and she seemed to take the guardian role seriously; none of the girls were going to get rich, but no one was going to starve to death either. It hadn’t taken long for all of Ayame’s initial suspicions to be proven true, however; Gen was newer to brothel when Ayame had arrived and was not yet used to eating on a regular basis. Over time, though, Gen relaxed into the brothel as Ayame did, and a bit more substance built around her frame. Likewise, Ayame continued to grow, trying to subtly strengthen all of the muscles that she could whenever she was left unattended. Opportunities like that were cropping up more and more frequently, and Ayame watched the days pass with a combination of relief and anxiety. Time was relentless, and she was on a pressing schedule, but feeling her body begin to move in the ways that she demanded was infinitely gratifying. 

Ayame took one final deep inhale through the nose, paused, and then pushed her hands further towards the floor on the exhale. She had brief recollections of stiff legs and an aching lower back from her previous body, and she had no intention of repeating the damage, but from an earlier age here. Her eyes glanced up towards the window as the last rays of the afternoon sunshine began to slip beneath the neighboring buildings. The sun was never harsh in Kiri-- the eternal mist put up and maintained by the village made certain of that, but that afternoon the sun had managed to break through a bit of the haze. It had warmed her skin affectionately as it filtered through the windows, and she was sad to see it go. However, the smell of perfume had begun to waft up the stairs from the main floor below, and there were a large number of preparations that had to be made in the early evening to maximize the profits coming through. The brothel was not hurting, by Ayame’s standard, but the costs of food were rising quickly and Ayame was just as invested in continuing to eat as anyone else that lived in the brothel’s wooden walls. 

Ayame rolled the mat she was stretching on and pushed it to the far corner of the room that her and Gen shared. She slipped on a plain dark green kimono, slid into her working shoes, and made her way down to the brothel’s pseudo-kitchen. There wasn’t much in there for actual food production, but it did have a hotplate that Ayame was responsible for boiling water with. Her responsibilities to the brothel while it was actually open had only begun a few months prior, and she was remarkably relieved that her tasks were all related to tea. She boiled the water, steeped the tea, and sometimes even brought it out to clients if they were regulars whose favorite women were not yet available. Actually seeing the people who used the brothel’s services was admittedly incredibly off-putting, though. 

The first time that Ayame saw one of the patrons, she was stunned into freezing-- he was uncannily normal looking. He didn’t look depraved or aggressive, and he had broken into a small, amused smile when he noticed his tea getting brought over by a two and a half year old. His smile in response shocked a small portion of Ayame’s world-view; her previous life’s preconceptions at odds with the warmth in the eyes of the man whose tea she was holding. 

A sharp whistle from the kettle on the stove yanked Ayame out of her reverie, and she shuffled over to remove it from the heat. It was still a bit early to set anything to steep, but having water that was already hot made the time crunch when people arrived significantly less stressful. With one chore done, Ayame gave a final nod to the stove and padded down the hallway towards one of the many mirrors inside the brothel’s walls. It was important to pull her hair away from her face during all hours that the business was open, because she didn’t want anyone feeling welcomed to run their hands through it. A low bun had been sufficient in the pass to dissuade anyone, so she curled her auburn hair around three small fingers, twisted it into a bun, and stuck a single plain chopstick through it to secure it. She scurried back towards the kitchenette to organize the teas and make sure that there was enough loose leaf to avoid running out of anything when she heard Obaasan’s voice cut across the main floor. 

“Ayame! Tea, table 4!” 

“Hai,” Ayame shouted back, already beginning to arrange the kettle and a small tea sampling on one of the silver-plated trays. Once everything was suitably balanced, Ayame inhaled and lifted the tray with both hands, arms shaking slightly under the weight of the full teapot. Anyone arriving this early, especially anyone that Aneko-san decided to let in at this hour, would be important enough to merit their own full teapot, and would also likely stay for a while. She deftly weaved through all of the empty tables to make her way to the table where two guests were currently sitting.

It was only after she was 2 meters away from the table, arms straining from the effort of carrying the tray all of the way across the room, that Ayame looked at the two patrons sitting in the booth. In retrospect, the situation could have been significantly worse -- if Obaasan had been watching, Ayame most certainly would have been disciplined. Ayame took in the faces and froze. 

_ Hoshigaki Kisame. Holy ever-loving shit.  _

A moderately thin boy with blue skin, gills, and jagged teeth sat cross-legged on the tatami mat. A child-size broadsword was leaning against the wall to his left side and Ayame watched as he ground his teeth together in either boredom or agitation. The man with him was Suikazan Fuguki, and also one of the biggest men she had ever seen in her life. Fortunately enough for her, he interpreted her still form as awe, and broke into a wide grin. The green markings on his face stretched upwards, and Ayame finally managed to cast her gaze to the ground and shuffle the final distance to the table. 

She knew next to nothing about Suikazan Fuguki. He was big, hugely dangerous, and currently sitting at a table inside the brothel that she called her home. She realistically only had two options to try to make a good opinion on either of the individuals in front of her-- be a happy, friendly child, or to be meek and subservient. Men typically appreciated the latter the most, Ayame figured, but she wasn’t trying to grow up to be a successful prostitute here, so friendly would have to do. She took a deep inhale through the nose while looking at the floor, forced a wide smile onto her face, and began setting the teaware onto the table. 

“Good evening! My name is Ayame, and it will be my pleasure to begin your services with us today.” Ayame paused to bow lowly -- both of these people were her superiors in every way that they could be, and the brothel was taking their money tonight anyway. She directed her gaze towards the man who, even sitting, towered over her. “Is this the first time you are spending time with us?”

Fuguki let out a belly-laugh. The friendly attitude seemed to be working in her favor. Nice. 

“Definitely not. Is Yua around?”

Yua was one of the perky blondes with lovely cerulean eyes who also happened to be one of the smallest women at the brothel. Ayame winced internally. Externally, Ayame continued to smile, and let out a small giggle. 

“She will be out to see you momentarily--” Ayame paused, realizing that she shouldn’t actually know this man’s name yet. She let a thoughtful look cross her face, and looked the imposing man straight on. “I’m sorry,” she continued, “I realize that I don’t know your name yet.” To distract from what Fuguki might have considered a rude or too personal question, Ayame began to pour the tea into the cups she had set out on the table. 

“Of course,” Fuguki began, a smile causing the green stripes on his cheeks to stretch towards his eyes. “This is my kohai and apprentice, Hoshigaki Kisame. I am Suikazan Fuguki. Nice to meet you, Ayame-chan.”

Ayame couldn’t control herself for a moment:

“You are one of the Seven Swordsmen, aren’t you?”

Fuguki fixed her under a speculative gaze before bursting out laughing, shaking the tea set as he pounded the table with his left fist. As his laughter began to subside, Ayame noticed that several of the girls in the brothel had collected outside the entry to the dining and waiting room. They were likely drawn to the noise, but Ayame couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t going to get scolded by Gen for being too familiar with a dangerous stranger. 

“You’re not like most other kids, are you, Ayame-chan?”

Ayame thought for a moment, and then gave him a conspiratory smile. 

“I hope not, Suikazan-san.” 

Yua drifted into the room, a lavender silk yukata placed across her shoulders. It was embroidered with pastel green leaves at the bottom of the sleeves and at the bottom hemline, and the colors brought out the green flecks in her eyes. She gave Fuguki a welcoming smile and bowed. Fuguki watched her enter the room, falling silent. He stood, accidentally pushing the table away and starting to follow Yua. 

_ Guess he doesn’t waste much time then, huh?  _ Ayame thought to herself bemusedly. She turned her attention entirely to the preteen remaining at the table. 

“Would you like anything in addition to your tea while you wait, Hoshigaki-sama?” 

Kisame looked her up and down, taking in her smiling face, and then let out a large sigh.   
“No thanks. I don’t need to be attended to by some brothel brat.”

Ayame’s gaze flickered back to the bodies lying on the other side of the doorway, confirming that the hunched shoulders of Obaasan weren’t in the group before dropping her smile entirely. A sympathetic grimace took its place, and she dropped both the volume and the pitch of her voice. 

“Are you sure? I imagine that you’re going to be here awhile.” Ayame’s eyes darted to where Fuguki had vanished with Yua before meeting Kisame’s eyes head-on. “We have dorayaki with anko if you’d like?”

Kisame sighed again.

“You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?”

Ayame shrugged unapologetically. 

“Probably not unless I have a reason to. You’re the only person out here, and if I go back there I’m going to be interrogated by a big group of women.” Ayame intentionally slouched her shoulders in together in a defensive gesture and tilted her head to gesture to the shadows outlined in the rice paper walls. Kisame inspected the shadows that were hovering in the doorway, then leveled Ayame with another mistrustful look. 

“Are you more afraid of them than you are of me?” She met Kisame’s toothy smirk with one of her own and shrugged a second time. 

“Yes,” Ayame answered simply. 

Kisame’s grin dropped and he growled back at her. 

“You don’t think I’m a threat? I could snap your arm with my teeth.” His already beady eyes narrowed. Ayame got the impression that if he was more cat or doglike than fishlike, his hairs would all be standing on end. She smiled at the image, but it only seemed to agitate him more. 

“I’m sure you could, Hoshigaki-san,” she began, still smiling. “But you wouldn’t.” 

Kisame’s chin lowered at the direct challenge, and he rolled his shoulders back into a more intimidating position. He sat as far up as he could to accentuate their age and height differences, and for a brief moment Ayame questioned whether this was the best or worst idea she had had thus far in her new life. 

_ Well, it isn’t like I’m not living on borrowed time anyway. I have to make an impression on someone to get selected for the academy, and why not one of the apprentices for one of the legendary swords?  _

Ayame took three long strides to put herself directly in front of the pre-teen Kisame, squared her shoulders, and lifted her left arm. Smile vanishing from her face, she pressed her forearm against his closed lips, meeting his glare with her own. Initially, Kisame angled his face away, leaving her forearm at his cheek but maintaining the prolonged eye contact. He slowly opened his mouth and twisted back. Ayame’s arm rested gently against both his upper and lower teeth, and she held her breath. His jaw tensed and he began to bite down, incredibly slowly-- puncture marks started to create droplets of blood that formed trails down his lower teeth. Eye contact not broken, Ayame realized that she had won. 

_ If he was going to really do it, he would have bitten hard, and fast. This is just a test.  _ She willed away the smile that was pulling at her mouth and the tears starting to pool in her eyes. Either one would be breaking the stalemate that she and Kisame had created, and she had come this far to prove a point. 

After a few more seconds, Kisame’s glare dropped to the floor and he reopened his mouth fully. Ayame immediately withdrew her arm and cradled it in the sleeve of her yukata. The blood began to seep through the fabric and run down her arm to her fingertips, likely ruining the yukata until she could convince one of the girls to embroider red flowers over the stains. At least she had made her point. 

“So would you like that dorayaki or no, Kisame-san?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing well. I really let quarantine get in between me and the things that bring me a lot of joy, so I'm going to try to get back into the swing of everything now. I missed you all a ton, and as always, if you see anything wrong, please let me know so I can fix it. 
> 
> P&P


	6. In which Ayame is traumatized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first with any really triggering content. There are two warnings that section out the worst of it-- if necessary, please skip all of the content between the two warnings. You can read up until that point and everything afterwards as well.

Ayame’s third birthday came and went with very little fanfare from the rest of the girls in the brothel. Gen had spent the money to come home with a takeout container of ramen and a pack of 6 red bean buns, knowing that both were some of Ayame’s favorite foods. Obaasan had gifted her a new working kimono, embroidered with plum blossoms that traced up the entire right side, and a new hair ribbon to match. The other women simply wished her a happy year, and congratulations on her survival. 

She was also no longer the youngest in the brothel’s walls: one of the women had given birth to a brunette baby-girl named Airi, who was just reaching the point of sleeping through the night. Ayame wasn’t entrusted with caring for the baby, much to her relief and delight, and the tasks that she was being given involved travel outside. It was now part of her duties to receive money from Obaasan and to head to the nearby market if they were low on any particular supplies. Obaasan had prepared her for her new duty by parading her around the market, announcing her to every single stall owner. It was horribly embarrassing, especially while watching the eyes of the various market-goers. Walking as a young girl with Obaasan advertised to everyone that she was going to be on the market once she hit adulthood, which prompted lecherous unfitting for a newly-turned 3-year-old. Obaasan’s real goals probably included the free advertising, but more importantly were for the stall owners to avoid taking advantage of Ayame with pricing. As uncomfortable as the first trip had been, Ayame had to respect the practicality.

* * *

The smell of alcohol and sewage was one that Ayame didn’t expect to get used to. The highly perfumed building she exited managed to drown out the stink, but made the transition to Kiri’s red light district even more jarring every time she did it. Stepping out into the street, Ayame placed the coin pouch Obaasan had handed her inside an interior pocket that had been hastily added to one of her plain kimonos. Careful to avoid any particularly large sewage puddles, Ayame weaved her way through the streets, thankful that the redlight district didn’t get a lot of foot traffic before nightfall. 

Despite the strategic placement of the coin pouch, she was nervous to get pick pocketed, and large crowds increased the likelihood that someone could swipe it without her noticing. Not to mention, Ayame never trusted the stares that she received from the general populace; there was a brothel filled entirely with children in the red light district, and she wasn’t sure that their patrons wouldn’t confuse her with one of them. As much as the presence of child prostitution outraged her, there wasn’t much she could do about it while she was still this small, so it was best for her to avoid the operation entirely. 

It took about 15 minutes of walking, but the smell of alcohol seemed to fade and she arrived at the outskirts of the market. She made her way to her favorite booth, the tea salesman. He greeted her with a crooked, friendly smile as she stepped underneath the overhang for the booth. 

“Good evening, Ken, how are you doing?” She flashed him a genuine smile. 

“I’m wonderful Ayame-chan!” He let out a short, high-pitched wheeze that substituted for a laugh. “What are you looking for tonight? Or should I say-- what is Aneko-san looking for tonight?” 

“We’re out of the Jasmine tea, and are looking for a new offering of white tea, if you have anything?”

The older man’s face looked pensive for a moment, tilted towards the upper right-hand corner of the stall, before it brightened considerably and he quickly shuffled into the back. Ayame couldn’t repress another smile and let her gaze wander around all of the teas that were prominently displayed at the front of the shop. It didn’t take long for the older man to hobble back in, waving a box excitedly. Instead of speaking, the man popped the top off of the box and held it under her nose for her to deduce what the flavor profile was. 

“Hmmmm,” Ayame began, eyes closing in thought. “It smells like lemongrass and peaches?” 

“Exactly!” the older man shouted. “It’s a mixture of lemongrass, peach, and honey--guaranteed to please as the weather turns a bit colder.” She gave him a simple nod, and he began to wrap up the selection of teas that the shop normally purchased with the white tea tucked in the center. Ayame handed him the normal yen with a small bit extra slid in that he hopefully wouldn’t notice before she got far enough away from the shop that he couldn’t chase her down to give it back. She might get in a bit of trouble for it, but she could always tell Obaasan that there was a small uptick in prices because of the worry about the war. Obaasan could ask Ken about it, but he would always back Ayame up. 

* * *

Ayame stepped back through the threshold and into the brothel, temporarily overwhelmed by the potent saccharine smell. She pressed her foot behind her to swing the door shut and juggled the bags in her hands to be more stable as she made her way into the kitchen. Gen heard her come in and stepped into the front room half dressed, grabbing the top bag from Ayame’s stack. She tutted at Ayame, likely for how the bags had gotten snagged and partially opened Ayame’s kimono in her juggle for the door handle, but Ayame paid it no mind. She wasn’t going to take critiques about being indecent at 3 years old from a half dressed woman inside of a brothel. 

Night was already beginning to fall when Ayame made it back to the brothel, so most of the women were in various shades of dress (or not) when Ayame laid out all of the tea. It was important for the women to know what was available when talking to the clientele, and to have a general feel for what tea might match each person’s preferences. The women were chatting noisily amongst themselves, remarking about their excitement or displeasure at the new white tea that Ayame had brought in, and Ayame let herself truly take in the room for a moment. 

All of the women were gorgeous in their own ways, and all of them had been kind to Ayame from the beginning. They weren’t quite family, Ayame figured, but they were a moderately-good substitute. They cared for her when she was sick, they would talk to her if she was particularly bored, and several of them had taken it upon themselves to teach Ayame how to read and write. She didn’t know where she would be without them, but it would certainly be worse than making and serving tea. She didn’t know what about the normalcy of the moment had made her so emotional, but Ayame felt tears pooling in her eyes and she gave a genuine smile. Gen caught her eye from across the room, and Ayame watched as she cycled through confusion, concern, and joy as she realized that Ayame was about to cry, but from happiness. Gen gave Ayame a smile in response, set her tea down, and walked over without drawing the attention of the others. 

“Are you alright?” Gen began, kneeling down to look Ayame directly in the eyes. It was one of the things that Ayame appreciated most. Gen didn’t talk too much, but if she felt the need to speak to Ayame directly, she only ever did it at Ayame’s level. 

Ayame sniffled slightly and attempted to quash down any tears that might have spilled down her cheeks. 

“I’m just--” she paused to think. “I’m just really happy to be here, I guess. Thank you, because I don’t say it enough.” 

Gen didn’t speak, but pulled Ayame into a hug and placed a quick kiss on the top of Ayame’s head. She stood and turned, rejoining the other women before they filed upstairs to finish their preparation for the evening. With that, it was time for Ayame to begin her own preparation for the evening, which began with collecting water and beginning to set kettles on the stove. The water didn’t need to be boiling quite yet, but the water already being hot sped up the delivery from the kitchen, resulting in happier clients. 

Once all of the kettles were on the stove, Ayame scurried to her own room to exchange the plain kimono she wore to market for one of the more elaborate ones that were reserved for busy weekend evenings at the brothel. It was at this point that she saw the last streams of daylight finally give way to darkness, and people began filing into the brothel. It was a typical, busy Saturday evening, but Obaasan interrupted the monotony by stepping into the kitchen. 

“Yes, Obaasan?” Ayame asked, perturbed by the woman’s entrance. Once Ayame had proven herself to be adept at handling the kitchen, Obaasan only ever entered during off hours. 

“We need more of that white tea. There are members of the council, and it has been exceptionally popular,” she answered, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out a larger bag of coins. “Buy two containers this time, and be back as quickly as possible.” Ayame gestured vaguely to the kimono she was wearing, silently asking if she had time to change. Reading the gesture, Obaasan frowned. “No time-- just go now, child. If you don’t jump in any puddles, you should be just fine.” 

With a frown of her own, Ayame slipped out of the house sandals, tucked the money as closely to her chest as she could, put on her outdoors shoes, and walked into Kiri’s humid, evening air.

* * *

CONTENT WARNING: The following section contains upsetting content, including attempted rape, violence, gore, and murder. Please skip the following section if that content isn’t tolerable.

* * *

Ayame’s frown morphed into some grotesque combination of displeasure and disgust as she immersed herself in Kiri’s red light district in its prime. The air was chilly, but humid, meaning that she was cold in her hands and feet while the back of her neck had beads of sweat dripping down. There were also almost five times the number of people, meaning that she was constantly being pushed from all sides by people that likely didn’t even notice her below their hips. Her anxiety levels rose and she placed both hands around the small bag that Obaasan had given her, praying that none of the people around her would bother targeting such a young girl. She paused as a couple of men began a drunken fight somewhere to her left, first trying to identify which set of legs belonged to the slurred insults, and then deciding it was smarter to navigate away. She veered right, and found herself with the decision to either walk through the slurry of alcohol and urine on the farthest side of the street, or continue to weave through potentially dangerous peoples’ legs. Giving one belabored sigh, she began to walk just at the edge of the crowd, dancing on the fine line between the sewage and the throng. 

With a sudden shove from the side, Ayame’s right foot landed solidly in the river of waste, sinking down about an inch before she managed to pull it back out. She shot a futile, nasty glare over her left shoulder. Ayame bit into her lower lip with her front teeth hard enough to draw a small droplet of blood, willing herself not to think of the squelching in her right sandal. She could and would wash both her foot and her sandal later, and there would hopefully be no long term damage to either one. 

In contrast to the red light district, the market that lay at its fringes was less busy in the late evenings. All shops closed at sundown with the exception of food stalls, and only the occasional person would be sober enough to meander their way so far out of the red light district for a better quality meal. The chaos had died down slightly, and Ayame allowed herself a moment to inhale deeply and sigh. She refused to look down, however, as she wanted to avoid any confirmation of the potential state of her right shoe. There were only the shop owners and a few civilians milling about, and she was able to press onwards towards the tea shop without having to straddle any rivulets of anything. 

Ayame made her way back into the tea shop, and for a moment, the smell of jasmine and matcha soothed her worries. She was going to buy the tea, push her way through the crowds, and then take a luxuriously long bath while the women were finishing working for the night. She announced her presence to Ken, who emerged from the back of the shop with a grin and two containers of the white tea in his hands. 

“Back for more, eh?” he teased, adding a wink to the end for added dramatics. 

“It’s been quite popular this evening, and apparently we have some important guests that have been attempting to drink us out of it,” Ayame answered honestly, returning the man’s smile. “I’m in a hurry unfortunately,” she added, knowing that she shouldn’t spend any time just chatting with Ken. 

“I understand,” he began. “It is a Saturday night, after all.”

Ayame handed him the bag of coins, and he handed her a small, blue cloth bag with the two tea tins tucked inside. She gave a polite bow and took one final deep breath before exiting the shop and turning back towards the brothel. 

Ayame was a street away from the brothel’s doors, again attempting to walk the fine line between the people and the streets’ urine water features when she felt a hand grab her shoulder roughly. She felt her stomach sink as she pivoted to get a good look at the person digging their fingers into her upper arm. It was a man, probably in his early to mid-forties, who was completely plastered. He gave her a smile that was supposed to be soothing, Ayame was sure, but only prompted her to squirm in his grasp. 

“Hey baby, where are you going in such a hurry?” he slurred, tightening his grip on her arm. 

“Let go of me!” Ayame yelled, beginning to shake her head quickly.

“Shhh shhh, it’s okay. No need to yell.” He pressed one dirty hand over her mouth and pulled her into the alley right next to them. Ayame began trying to yell harder, twisting her arm back and forth to try and rip it from the man’s grasp. He hushed her again, moving his hand to press the pads of his fingers deep into the flesh of her cheeks. “Shut up, girlie. I’m sure Tomiko-san wouldn’t mind a loyal customer like me dipping in a little early.”

_ Tomiko-san...  _

_ Oh Kami _

_ Oh no. oh no oh no oh no oH nO OH NO OH NO NO NO NO NO NO NO _

It was at this point that Ayame began to scream and cry simultaneously. Tomiko-san was the woman who ran the brothel of children. This man was going to hurt her-- rape her-- in this alley because he thought she was for  _ sale _ . Even worse, there was an entire crowd of people and no one was going to do anything to help her. This was Kiri, and this was entirely her problem to deal with. 

Ayame began clawing at the man’s hands and arms as he pressed her against the slimy alley wall. She felt the cool dampness seep in through the back of her kimono as he shifted his hands to give himself better leverage. He wrapped one hand around her throat, holding her up against the wall the same forearm, freeing his second hand to begin undoing his own belt. The clinking of his belt made Ayame freeze. The screams died in her throat and she stopped clawing at him. 

She closed her eyes, fixating on the wall against her back. The stone was cool, and there were patches of moss giving a gentle cushion at her shoulder blades. Ayame took one deep breath in through the nose, smelling the air of the red light district intensified on the man in front of her’s breath. 

“Now that’s a good girl. Let me take good care of you and we’ll get you right back to Tomiko-san.” 

The man began pushing the front of her kimono apart and Ayame opened her eyes. 

He was hunched over her, with their noses almost touching. His gaze was entirely fixated downwards. It became immediately clear exactly what Ayame had to do. 

With both hands, she drove her thumbs into both of the man’s eyes. After initial resistance, she felt her fingers both sink into the man’s eye sockets, and Ayame felt blood splatter across her face. The man screamed. He attempted to fling himself away, pushing away from both her and the wall, but Ayame dug her nails into the sides of his face to maintain her own grip. They both went down-- the man fell backwards, landing on his ass and trying to shuffle away with Ayame still clinging to his skull.

Something glittered green at the edges of her vision. Ayame realized there was a glass shard from an abandoned sake bottle sitting on the ground to her left. Wordlessly, she withdrew both of her thumbs from the man’s eyes, blood still pouring down his face, and crawled, reaching for the glass. 

Ayame didn’t feel the bottle remnant cut her, but she watched as blood began to collect on her palms where she had gripped the bottle. She watched it mix with the blood from the strange man’s head with grotesque fascination for a moment. Slowly, Ayame realized that the man was still screaming and her gaze shifted from the glass to the man. She stood on legs she didn’t quite feel, and took the one step that was separating her from him. 

The man’s face was red, mouth hanging open, still screaming. His neck was tense and his jugular veins seemed to be pushing out against his skin, distended. His arms were flailing wildly around his face, and his legs were kicking towards an enemy that he couldn’t see. 

Without even a second look at the man’s ruddy complexion, Ayame sunk the piece of glass just to the right of his trachea, knowing deep into her soul that she had just severed his carotid artery. He would bleed out within the minute. There was a brief moment where Ayame questioned this knowledge -- even with the births that happened in the brothel, there was no reason for her to know the exact location of the artery or how quickly the man would die. Still, the thought was slippery and evaded her grasp. She shook her head, and turned back towards the mouth of the alley -- it was irrelevant now. 

Ayame re-tied her kimono, grabbed the blue cloth bag, and walked the final block to the brothel doors. A brief coherent thought flickered across her mind -- she was dirty, and she should go in the back door. The guests might be upset. So, she turned on one heel and walked in through the side entrance that led directly into the kitchen. 

* * *

CONTENT WARNING: The upsetting content has finished.

* * *

There was no one in the kitchen when she arrived, and she set the blue bag on the counter for someone else to handle. Smears of red that the bag had absorbed caught her eye, and Ayame remembered that her own hand was bleeding. So, she walked to the sink, stepped up on the stool that was left there for her use, and began washing the cut out. Having heard the door open and shut, Obaasan stalked into the kitchen, preparing to berate Ayame for her obvious dallying on her way home. However, the blood on the bag and that which had dripped onto the floor without Ayame noticing made Aneko pause. 

“Ayame-chan? Are you alright?” Obaasan began slowly. Ayame didn’t respond, fixated on watching the blood run down the drain from her hand. “Ayame-chan,” Obaasan tried once again. Still, there was no response from the toddler at the sink. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Obaasan walked over to the sink, leaned around Ayame’s still form, and watched Ayame scrub mutely at the slice on her palm. It wasn’t until Obaasan reached her hand into the sink to begin scrubbing the cut herself that Ayame looked up at her. 

“Obaasan?”

Aneko noticed the blood splatter across the child’s face, arching across the bridge of her nose like a scar. It had dripped a little bit, but otherwise had formed a straight line dividing her face. She also could see the red marks that would likely turn to bruises in a circle around the girl’s neck.

“What happened, child?”

Ayame swallowed, and her eyes flitted about, trying to locate exactly the right words. After about 10 seconds, Ayame’s eyes came to fully rest on the older woman in front of her. 

“Tomiko-san lost a customer tonight, Obaasan. I am very sorry.” 

Aneko’s gaze narrowed and lowered to assess the child’s lower half. Despite being covered in blood almost everywhere else, Ayame seemed alright from the waist down. 

“Did he really hurt you?” Ayame shook her head. “Go run a bath then, child. Change into something clean to sleep in, and I will see you in the morning.”

“Hai, Obaasan.” Ayame slowly lowered herself from the stool and silently walked out of the kitchen, turning towards the living quarters for those at the brothel and vanishing into the darkness. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a rough chapter to get through, but important for who Ayame will eventually becomes. Remember to take care of yourselves, folks, and stay healthy!
> 
> P&P


	7. In which Ayame gets what she wanted

Ayame laid in bed in the room that she had shared with Gen since she was a child, red hair heavy with water from her bath and splayed around her head like a crown. She stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on breathing slowly and completely. Her fingers were laced together, resting on her stomach to feel the rise and fall and remind herself that she was indisputably alive.

_Of course,_ she thought, bitterly, _that man can’t really say the same._

Ayame heaved a sigh and brought the heels of her hands to press into her own eyes, and her right palm burned slightly at the strain. She pressed her hands in until white spots flickered across her vision. Ayame breathed in again, slowly, holding it this time. Triceps contracting, she felt the sudden urge to throw both of her arms down, hard, which would slam them both full force into the wooden floor on either side of her thin sleeping mat. Instead, Ayame allowed her arms to tense completely, frozen in their position over her eyes. To slam them against the floor would be painful and unhelpful, so she pressed that urge down. With the next exhale, she pressed her front teeth against her bottom teeth, giving a small amount of resistance to her next exhale and letting her control the speed at which the air left her. 

Control. 

That was what was really bothering her, wasn’t it? 

Ayame was not mourning the murder of that man at her own hands. She wasn’t disturbed at the blood that sprayed against her face, or even that she could feel herself sinking her fingers into his eyes over and over again. It wasn’t even the feeling of powerful, controlled hatred that came over her in the moments before she killed him that was frightening her. It was the feeling of spiraling-- losing control over the situation. She had mistaken the place she had carved out in the brothel as one that was consistent and had become complacent with the spot she had found. 

_If this situation was anything, it was a metaphor for what I have been setting myself up for. If I don’t work to get as strong as possible, I have no chance to actually do anything I want. I’ll be defenseless, pinned against a metaphorical wall. I doubt I’ll be able to scrape my way out of anything else the way I did today. It’s time to refocus._ Ayame hummed, eyes staying shut as she brought her fingers back to rest on her stomach. 

_But focus on what, exactly?_ The thought gnawed at her skull. It was important, what she was forgetting. She narrowed her mental focus on the earliest things that she could remember. Heat. And screaming. Ayame furrowed her brows. It wasn’t revenge-- that felt wrong, but she knew she was close. Ichika’s face flashed into her mind, and suddenly everything clicked back into place. Ayame gasped, bolting into a sitting position with eyes wide. 

_Kushina! How could I have forgotten? Our parents and the village and Ichika and the boat and Minato and Naruto and the Akatsuki and Danzo and--_

Ayame’s thoughts spiraled into a long sequence of curses. _Stupid fucking baby brains being mush and stupid body for not doing things I want it to and stupid Kiri for being such a suck ass place to grow up. And fuck, I still don’t even fucking know how old Zabuza is-- I haven’t even SEEN the kid yet! I have to enroll in the academy, and while I know they’re desperate, I don’t think they’re brothel brat 3-year-old desperate yet._ Ayame leaned into her own hands, attempting again to control her own breathing. 

_So what can I do in the meantime though? Strength training, finding Zabuza, and chakra control, I suppose. But how the fuck am I actually going to do any of those things? Obaasan thinks I’m going to be a brothel worker forever. Unless,_ Ayame pursed her lips and leaned backwards, placing her hands behind her and putting her weight into them. _Obaasan ran into me minutes after I killed someone. If I became a ninja, I could justify it by funneling money back into the brothel. It would make sense for a kid to want to find a way to protect themselves after what just happened._

_However, I don’t want to become tied to the village in any significant way. I’m not particularly planning on staying past basic training and continuing to live, so serving in the war wouldn’t actually do me any good. I have to stand out enough just to be able to garner the attention to have them put me in the academy in the first place, but not so high as to be put on the frontlines just to be slaughtered._ Ayame hummed quietly to herself, but was interrupted when the door to the room slid open.

“Ayame-chan, come with me please.”

Ayame didn’t have to open her eyes to know that it was Obaasan. A small pang of nervousness crossed through her-- the most realistic time for her to broach being a ninja would be as soon as possible, but she didn’t quite have a plan for if Obaasan said no. She didn’t want to go into this conversation without a backup, but she was going to have to play it by ear at this point anyway. Leaning back into a sitting position, Ayame pushed herself to standing and quietly padded out of the room with Obaasan. 

They walked together towards Obaasan’s office in the front of the brothel. Based on the light streaming in through the windows, it was early morning-- probably around 7:30 am. Normally, all of the other girls in the brothel would be asleep until 11 or 12, so they were hours from anyone else being awake. As the pair approached the office, Ayame noticed a shadow through the rice paper walls. Her heart leapt into her throat. Could she possibly be in trouble? 

Obaasan opened the sliding door and Ayame was face to face with three familiar faces. Hoshigaki Kisame sat beside his mentor, fixing her with a more curious appraising stare than he had had during their previous interaction. Fuguki Suikazan smiled at her, grin showing his row of unnaturally sharp teeth. Finally, she saw the greying profile of Naoki-san-- the man she vaguely remembered as having bequeathed her to Obaasan in the first place. 

_This is either going to be really good for me, or really bad,_ Ayame mused to herself. The realization that, despite remembering Naoki-san’s name, she probably should pretend she didn’t flitted across her consciousness. So, she bowed lowly to the three people in the room. 

“Suikazan-san, Hoshigaki-san, it is my pleasure to meet you again.” Ayame paused mid bow and lifted her gaze to the third man in the room, waiting for him to either introduce himself or be introduced. Obaasan obliged, gesticulating to the older nin. 

“Ayame-chan, this is Naoki-san. He is one of the top jounin in the village, in charge of mission distribution and return.” Ayame tagged his name onto her previous greetings and set herself on the cushion across from the three men, beside the seat delegated to Aneko. Ayame smiled politely, suddenly aware of the bruise that almost entirely encircled her throat. Naoki-san cleared his throat, and Fuguki began speaking. 

“We saw you have quite the evening last night, Ayame-chan. How are you doing?” Fuguki tilted his head in a show of concern. Ayame wasn’t quite sure if it was legitimate concern or not, but she supposed it didn’t really matter. 

“My hand hurts,” she said, flatly. Fuguki narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze drifting towards her folded palms. She turned her right hand outwards, flashing the deep cut on her palm to the individuals in the room. 

Naoki leaned forward and began to speak. 

“How did you get that cut, Ayame-chan?” 

“I cut it on a sake bottle that was broken inside one of the alleyways in the red light district.” Ayame worked to keep her tone even and her volume consistent. “I was picking it up to defend myself.” She watched as Naoki clenched and unclenched his jaw, seeming to physically chew on her words for a few moments before continuing to speak. 

“So why were you in the alleyway, Ayame-chan?”

“I was pulled in by a man who thought I was with Tomiko-san’s brothel.” 

The two older men looked towards each other, Naoki appearing to verify the information with Fuguki, who simply shrugged. 

“And what did you do to defend yourself then, Ayame-chan?” The question came from Fuguki this time, and Ayame mimicked his earlier show of concern by tilting her head to the left. 

“I--” Ayame realized at this moment that she didn’t know the word for “gouge”. She closed her eyes in thought, reworking her sentence. “I put my thumbs in his eyes. He fell over, knocking us both down. Then I picked up the glass, and put it in his neck.” Ayame opened her eyes. “Then I left.” Breathing in deeply through her nose, Ayame waited for any of the adults in the room to say anything. Her eyes darted between the individuals in the room, waiting for anyone to either question her further or pass judgement. A sign left Naoki’s mouth and he leaned backwards slightly, tipping his head up towards the ceiling in thought. He glared at the ceiling for a moment before sighing a second time. Naoki pivoted to face Fuguki. 

“What do you think about all of this, Suikazan-san?” 

He brought his hand to scratch at his chin thoughtfully. “Well, everything she said matches what I happened to see yesterday.” Fuguki gave her a grin. “Plus she’s crafty--there’s a look in her eye that nin need for survival. She’s a good fit.” 

Aneko-san looked disturbed at the turn of the conversation. 

Fuguki continued, unconcerned without the growing distaste on Aneko’s face. “It would be a waste for us _not_ to at least try. Given her history, and all.” 

Naoki shot Fuguki a sharp, angry look. His next words were carefully selected, spoken slowly and overly-pronounced in warning. “Her standing in Kiri does mean she wouldn’t be a terrible loss either.” He paused, holding Fuguki in a continued glare. Ayame noticed how entirely unconcerned Fuguki appeared to be in the face of Naoki’s silent warning. _So the swordsmen really are higher in the rankings than even their elders,_ Ayame mused. _Perhaps becoming a swordsman wouldn’t be the worst idea. Their training is probably more rigorous._ Ayame rolled the thought over in her mind while the adults continued their staredown. 

“Gentlemen, you cannot possibly be implying that Ayame-chan is to become a ninja, are you? She is beholden to me, and she was promised to me. She is mine!” Aneko’s voice rose in both volume and pitch, ending her comments unpleasantly shrieking. Her shoulders were tensed towards her ears, her whole body hunched forward with her left arm extended towards Ayame’s right shoulder. Aneko gripped Ayame’s shoulder in anger. 

_There was the stench of the booze and the grip of a man and the sounds of distant laughter and the feel of the coolness seeping into her kimono from the alley wall and the moss behind her and the stone behind the moss and the shuffling of a belt and the sounds of screaming that might have been hers and the gleam of the bottle and the sounds of screaming and the sounds of screaming and the sounds of screaming and the_

_screaming, and the screaming, and the_

_screaming, and the_

A new hand grabbed her left arm and leg and Ayame found herself dangling off the floor from the two extremities in Obaasan’s office. Her voice felt hoarse but the screaming going on was not her own. Naoki was hunched over a highly distressed Aneko who was clutching her left hand across her chest. Ayame’s gaze fixated on Obaasan for a moment, before slowly peering up to the man holding her. Fuguki caught her with a bemused look that he was unsuccessfully trying to repress. He leaned in close to her. 

“You’re going to have to work on that,” he whispered, almost as if he were sharing a secret. Ayame swallowed. 

“Guess so.” 

Fuguki continued. “You can get a much more effective break if you apply outward pressure at the furthest point of the pinky. Just pressing at the base will only dislocate.” Ayame blinked in shock. That was definitely not the response she was expecting. 

“Oh, uh-- of course,” Ayame stammered. 

The screaming slowly ceased as Naoki managed to relocate Aneko’s pinky and the pain began to abate. 

“She must be trained,” Naoki said dryly. 

“It would be my honor to offer her in service to Kirigakure and the Mizukage,” Aneko replied, spitting the words between clenched teeth. 

When Aneko left the office to return to the brothel’s main floor, she began her afternoon cleaning duties. She pursed her lips in thought. _Not exactly as hoped, but it worked._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!   
> This is my first story with AO3, and I am going to try my best. It's another SI-OC story, set around the time of the Shinobi War. You can expect Ayame to know everything that I know right now, which is everything up until Shippuden, and then vague plot points thereafter. As of right now, I don't have a Beta, so please excuse any errors that crop up, and let me know if I should fix something. This story is in it for the long haul, so any improvements I can make while writing would be awesome!   
> ~P&P


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